as she is embraced to the drifts of night
the wolves make to rise, the falcons to flight.
they journey to a distant land, to find
a girl with shadowed hand and quiet hind
to side does land. in cross of time a note
is heard, `tis heard in word on wing-ed float
by storms of night that rise and swell and tell
the tales of a jewelled girl in her farewell.
her ribboned hair flows through the bars, in height
it curves like luscious hips in catsuit tight.
on desert sand is a gazelle with eyes
of light and voice of song; her guise does rise
with bird and beast in form no more but sound
across night's softest through silence profound.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
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